


Rules of the Road

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-04
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean teaches Sam how to drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of the Road

"What?"

"It's Tuesday."

"So?"

"Dean, you _promised._"

"I'm busy."

"You're reading _Guns and Ammo_!"

"It's important research."

"But you _said_\--"

"I said 'maybe.' Don't you have homework or something?"

"Finished it. C'mon, man, I've had my permit for a whole month already."

"Not my fault. We'll go tomorrow."

"You said that yesterday."

"I meant 'tomorrow' in a kind of general sense. You know, a 'not today' sense."

"You're such a dick."

"Go away."

"You never do anything you say."

"Stop staring at me."

"I don't know why I ever believe you."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, Sammy, _fine_. Fine. We'll go before you drive me fucking crazy. Get the keys."

"Already got them."

~

His earliest memory is in the car. He remembers rain on the roof, the back of Dad's head illuminated by headlights flashing through the windows, and a quiet voice singing along with the radio.

There was a time when he thought it was a lullaby, maybe even one brief memory of the mother he never knew. Not an image or a scent, like those early memories are supposed to be, but a soft, soft sound, a voice almost lost beneath the metallic patter of raindrops on the car.

But when he's thirteen he figures out that he was wrong. They aren't going anywhere in particular, just to pick up a pizza or get milk or something. Dean makes him come along because he won't leave Sam home alone at night. At a stoplight Dean reaches over to switch on the music, and Sam realizes that it's been a few years since he last heard Dean sing along to radio.

~

"Put the clutch in."

"I know."

"And put it in reverse."

"I know! I've done this before."

"Look, Sam, you need me here or not? Check behind you before backing out."

"Okay. Clear."

"So let out the clutch slowly and give it a little gas -- uh, slower than that."

"Okay, then -- shit!"

"You stalled. No big deal. Try again."

"Ugh! Why can't we have an automatic?"

"Automatics are for girls. Go on, try again. And try not to hit the mailbox as you back out."

"You're the only one who runs over mailboxes around here."

"It's a special talent, I know. C'mon, third time's a charm."

"Stupid car."

"Don't talk to her like that. She doesn't like it."

"Oh, my god, stop _stroking_ the dashboard, you freak."

~

Sam is sitting at the base of the cottonwood tree in their front yard. It's hot even in the shade, too hot to do anything other than sprawl on the grass and pretend to read while Dad and Dean work on the car on the driveway. The leaves of the cottonwood rustle and turn in the breeze; sunlight and shadow fall on him in a shifting patchwork.

The sounds of shouts and laughter float through the air. There's a public pool just a block away, but they can't go there anymore, not since Dean got into a fight with one the lifeguards -- some jerk six years older than him and about twice his size -- and the neighbors started saying things about unruly boys who just aren't raised right. Sam doesn't think _he_ should be punished just because Dean doesn't know how to behave like a normal human being in public, but it's not like Dad ever cares about fair, so Sam's stuck here, bored out of his skull, probably the only kid in the world who can't wait for school to start again.

With a groan, Sam rolls over onto his stomach and watches ants march along the roots of the tree. He's so bored he even considers going over and offering to help Dad and Dean do whatever it is they're doing. He's not stupid; he knows fixing a car is a useful skill, one he might actually need someday. It's not even a weird skill, unlike everything else they have to learn, the shooting and bow-hunting and exorcisms.

He looks across the lawn and watches them work. Dean's still got a black eye from that lifeguard -- the lifeguard actually has two black eyes and two broken fingers, and Sam really isn't proud of that, because that's just _wrong_ \-- and Dad's got a bandage around his forearm that he didn't say anything about when he got home the other night. But in the morning Sam found some notes about a binding spell stacked up with the t.v. guide and help wanted ads on the kitchen table.

Leaning over the engine of the Impala, they aren't talking. They never seem to need to. Every once in a while Dean dashes into the garage to fetch some tool, and it must always be the right one, because Dad never sends him back.

Sam rolls over onto his back again and, with a sigh, picks up his book and begins to read.

~

"Left."

"Why? There's nothing out there."

"Bingo. You think I'm letting you drive straight through town on your first day? Go left."

"Fine. Aren't you going to tell me to use my blinker?"

"There's nobody behind you."

"I'm supposed to anyway."

"Why? So the cows know you're turning?"

"It's the law. I could get a ticket."

"Hey, if the cows pull you over to give you a ticket, I think you've got more to worry about than not using your blinker."

"Where to?"

"Just drive for a while, but, dude, shift up. Can't you hear that, the way the engine sounds? You have to listen to her."

"No, Dean, you're the only one who hears voices in the car."

"I'm serious. Listen."

"It sounds like an engine."

"It sounds like an engine that needs a higher gear -- and don't pop the clutch! Let it out easy. Christ. "

"I did let it out easy!"

"Sure, whatever. That lurching around was just the cows trying to run you down."

"Shut up."

"You can go a little faster, you know. When the sign says 'forty-five' it doesn't usually mean 'twenty-five.'"

"Shut up, jerk."

"You shut up, asshole."

"Punk."

"Bitch."

"Dickface."

"Fuckhead."

"Butthead."

"Jerk-off."

"Shitbrains."

"You just ran a stop sign."

"What? _Fuck!_"

"You know, slamming on the brakes _after_ you go through the intersection doesn't help much."

"Shut up. Wait, why won't it--"

"You stalled again. Car's gotta be on before you can make it go, Einstein."

"Gee, thanks. What would I do without you?"

"I dunno, man. The cows would probably get you."

"What is it with you and those cows?"

~

Dad's out of town the first night Sam takes the car by himself. Dean hands over the keys with only a minimal of grumbling and says, "Don't drink, don't get high, don't get anybody pregnant, and if you get so much as a scratch on her, I'll fucking kill you." Then he sprawls on the sofa, opens a beer, and turns on a baseball game. After a few moments he looks up at Sam. "I know you're new at this, Sammy, but you are supposed to pick up your date, not wait for her to come to you."

Scowling, Sam leaves, slamming the door a little too hard behind him. He picks up Jill Rochester right on time. They go to a movie, go get burgers and ice cream, go down to the park. Jill's the kind of girl who thinks she's a real vixen for letting a guy put his hand up her shirt, but just as things start to get interesting she remembers that her father wants her home by midnight.

So Sam drives her home, and she thanks him for being such a nice guy.

When he leaves Jill's house, waving cheerfully at her father's silhouette in the front window, he doesn't go home right away. He tools around on the dark, quiet roads for a while, no particular destination in mind. They've been in this shit town in west Texas for almost a year and a half. Sam doesn't really know why they're staying put, but he knows better than to think his complaints about changing schools all the time had anything to do with it. Dad's got a part-time job at a local garage and even Dean has managed to bring home a few honest paychecks, so while it isn't exactly what Sam has in mind when he thinks of a place that could be home, he keeps his mouth shut and wonders how long it will last.

Sam drives past the city limit sign and keeps on going, steering with one hand and watching the faded lines race by on the highway. Right outside the edge of town, on a warm fall night like this, it's like the world ended and nobody remembered to tell them. There are no other cars on the road, and the only lights are in the rear view mirror. Sam watches them recede, watches the moonless night sky grow bigger and darker, then finally slows down and pulls into a ranch driveway to turn around.

He doesn't go back onto the highway right away. He leans forward onto the steering wheel, resting his chin on his forearms, and looks down the road toward the west.

He could keep going, he thinks. He glances at the fuel gauge: half tank. He could keep going, hit the New Mexico border, burn through Arizona, cruise into California. That's where people go when they want to get away. He hasn't seen the ocean in a couple years. He could.

But he doesn't. He puts the car in gear and heads back toward town. He drives home slowly, well under the speed limit, taking the long route back to their apartment.

When he lets himself in he finds Dean asleep on the couch, and he figures it was a good thing he decided to come back. It would really suck to have his own brother hunt him down like some furious angel of car-stealing vengeance.

~

"Dude, upshift."

"Okay, okay."

"Seriously, what part of this whole shifting gears thing don't you understand?"

"I understand it just fine."

"Then why don't you shift up when you're going faster? Shift up for speed, down for power. Get it?"

"Yes, jeez, I get it."

"I mean, straight flat road like this, you're in a high gear, because you want speed, not power. But sometimes -- like on hills, or...I don't know, if you want to run something down -- you want power more than speed, so you're in a lower gear."

"I get -- wait. Run something down?"

"Yeah. Sometimes the car's the only weapon you got, and you should know how to use it. Say there's a whole horde of zombies and your blowtorch is dead and you're all out of matches. What can you do but plow over them?"

"But wouldn't you want to accelerate as much as you can to get out of there?"

"You are accelerating, but remember, you have to get the fuckers out of the way before you can escape."

"I don't think it makes that much difference. The cars weighs so much more than the zombies anyway, it's not going to matter if you're in a low gear or in a high gear."

"It matters, trust me."

"Since when were you the zombie-running-over expert?"

"I know things about zombies you can only dream, Sammy."

"You say that like it's something to be proud of."

~

Dean doesn't turn off the car when he stops in front of the Greyhound station. Sam pushes his door open and puts one foot out.

"Here," Dean says suddenly. It's the first he's said since Sam came outside that morning and found his brother leaning against the car. _Get in. I'll drive you to the bus station._ Dean reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out an envelope, pushes it into Sam's hand.

Sam lifts the flap. It's a stack of twenties, more than he can count just glancing at it. "Dean..."

Dean doesn't look at him. He puts both hands on the steering wheel and stares straight ahead. "Take it."

"I have--"

"Take it. You're going to need it."

"I -- okay. Thanks."

There's a moment of silence, then Sam climbs the rest of the way out of the car and grabs his duffel bag and backpack from the back seat.

Sam leans down and looks across the front seat at his brother. "I'll let you know where I'm staying, when I find out."

Dean only says, "Better hurry up. You'll miss your bus."

"Dean--" Sam hesitates. "Goodbye, then."

"Yeah." Dean puts the car in gear and still doesn't look at him.

With a sigh, Sam shuts the passenger side door. Dean pulls away from the curb, spitting gravel and squealing tires as he peels out of the parking lot. Sam watches until the Impala vanishes around a corner.

"See you later," Sam says quietly.

Then he picks up his bags, pockets the money, and goes inside to buy a ticket to California.

~

"What are you doing?"

"Opening the window. What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Well, close it. The noise is distracting."

"That's good. You have to learn how to drive with distractions."

"I thought I was supposed to _not_ be distracted while I drive."

"Sometimes you can't help it."

"Is this about zombies again? Because, really, you and your zombies--"

"Maybe zombies, or maybe you have to shoot out the window at something as you drive away--"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause I'm sure that's on the driving test."

"--or maybe you've got a girl who's feeling a little frisky while you're driving and--"

"What? _While_ you're driving?"

"Hey, it happens. Some chicks can't keep their tongues to themselves."

"Oh, god, I can't believe you're -- _while_ you're driving? Like, car still moving?"

"I know you're still scared of girls, Sammy--"

"Am not!"

"--but what occupies you during those hour-long showers of yours--"

"Shut the hell up. At least I don't spend an hour gazing lovingly in the mirror every morning."

"--someday, when you're older, you might actually understand--"

"Oh, my god, you are _not_ talking to me about this."

"--that you can get some help with that--"

"While _driving_? In _this_ car?"

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, man."

"On _this_ seat? Where I'm sitting _right now_?"

"See what I mean, though? That's a major distraction. You have to be ready for it. It wouldn't be cool to drive off the road while some girl's got her teeth--"

"Stop! I'm _sitting_ right -- _aarrgh!_ I want to bleach my clothes. And my skin. And my brain."

"Dude, calm down. You almost hit that fence post."

"Tell me you at least cleaned the car afterward."

~

They should have stopped hours ago, found a KOA or cheap motel and crashed for the night, but Sam's been driving since before sunset and the steady rumble of the car and Dean sleeping beside him and the mile markers passing by -- it's almost soothing, like maybe he's gotten used to it.

He doesn't think about that too much, concentrates instead of keeping the car between the lines, watching the road signs even though he knows it'll be a while before he has to turn. Exits come and go in bursts of light; he catches up to semis and leaves them behind. He thinks he might stop for coffee soon, but he's worried that if he does Dean will wake up and insist on taking the wheel.

They're going down to Georgia. Haunted plantation. Some old guy Dad helped years ago is asking for help again, wants the place cleaned out of spirits before he gives it to his daughter and her fiancé. Just a regular job, it will probably only take a couple of days, and with luck they'll get some fine Southern cooking out of the deal.

So he drives, aimed toward the east, one hand on the wheel, the other arm stretched out across the back of the seat. Sam thinks that it will be kind of neat to drive until he sees the sun rising, red and gold, in front of him.

~

"You didn't run over any old ladies or small children, you didn't hit any stationary objects, and nothing exploded. That wasn't so bad."

"Wow, gee. You're full of praise."

"You really need to work on that shifting, man. It's a matter of timing. Finesse. You have to listen."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Listen. So, can we go again tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"You said I need to work on it."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Fine. Okay."

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Keys."

"Oh. Right. Damn."

"Thought you were going to be sneaky and keep them?"

"Thought you wouldn't notice."

"I _always_ notice. Give 'em here."

"Man, you're no fun."

"That's me, Mr. Doesn't Let Sammy Have Any Fun. By the way, it's your turn to make dinner tonight."

~

Dean goes into a hardware store in Iowa to buy a shovel to replace the one he lost in an unfortunate grave-burning mishap. Sam waits in the car, eyes closed, slouched down in the seat, letting the sun warm him through the window. When Dean comes out, he slides into the driver's seat and tosses something into Sam's lap.

"What's this?" Sam asks, looking down.

"What's it look like?" Dean starts the car. "You ready to go?"

It looks like a set of keys to the Impala, for the doors and ignition, on a cheap metal keychain that says, _Our liberties we prize and our rights we will maintain._

Sam twirls the key ring on his finger and smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Let's go."


End file.
